


The Best Lover Is  A Good Friend

by FlamboyantProblematic



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Fluff, Its not angst but its a bit melancholic at times, M/M, a fic where theyre together and its not angst or smut, its mostly soft fluff tho, just a very somber chill fic, wow would you look at that
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-12
Updated: 2020-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:41:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23116381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FlamboyantProblematic/pseuds/FlamboyantProblematic
Summary: As the seas of Martinaise rage on during a dark night, Glen holds the man he loves in his arms and ponders.
Relationships: Glen/Titus Hardie
Comments: 1
Kudos: 4





	The Best Lover Is  A Good Friend

**Author's Note:**

> Wow! Fluff! Ikr?! I'm surprised too! But I thought I should really try to write some soft stuff for these two more often. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

Beer bottles filled the room, scattered over tables, on the floor. The glass glistened in the light of the dim moon, the only thing keeping the room from being completely dark. The sound of a years old radio played in the background, talking about chaos and death, reporting on things that no longer phased the citizens of Martinaise. 

There would be work to be done tomorrow. 

There was always work to be done. 

For the past ten years, the only thing keeping Martinaise from being a ghost town was a bunch of dockworkers who had little to lose, but a lot of fire to burn. They never expected anything in return. No money, no medals. Outside of Martinaise, no one cared about who they were. No one cared about Martinaise.

The sound of the radio became background noise as the sea crashed into the shore outside, matching the rhythmic breathing of the sleeping man inside the room. His chest rose and fell with the waves. In the faint light of the moon, his body was outlined; his skin was tan, and became rough to the touch from hours of working under the sun. Scars on his body like medals from god, congratulating him on surviving another day. 

He looked peaceful. 

As the blonde man, who's legs were used as a bed for the other's head, stared at the sight before him, he couldn't help but smile. 

There were nights like these where the blonde man would dread the thought of being awake at this ungodly hour. To him, the moon was a nuisance. The sound of the sea outside made it hard for him to find rest, it never carried him away to a better place, it only made him drown. 

But those days were long behind him.

Now he could stay awake all day long and not be afraid of his thoughts. He let himself drift, let his hands gently trace the side of the other man's face, his thumb going along his cheek, down to his chin, feeling the stubble under his fingertips. 

He thought of the day they first met. They were both full of fight, the bags under their eyes were not as present as they were now, their bodies were decorated with less scars, his own smile was brighter, his eyes more lively. But the other man was always exceptionally charming, just as he was now.

They clicked instantly, all it took was a tackle. They rolled on the floor and laughed, and just like that, hazel eyes met blue, and the blonde knew he wanted to be by that man's side for the rest of his life. 

On their journey, the two had their ups and downs. Thinking about them now, had the other man not beat some sense into him, the blonde wouldn't have made it this far. He was grateful for every fight, every punch thrown, every hurtful word, spat out in good intention. They fought a good some, broke a few tables, smashed a few bottles, but they always helped patch each other up. 

Even at his worst, even when he was high out of his mind or hammered, the other man was always there for him, kept him grounded. Kept his demons in check. He felt the ghost of the memory hover over his fingers, gently pulling away the nonexistent beer bottle from his hand. It told him he'll be okay. It told him he was better than this, he was stronger than his demons. Fuck, it was so easy to believe him. So fucking easy when he smiled with a reassuring glint in his eyes... and then it was silent in his head. 

Despite everything, the two only grew stronger, only became closer. Even after that fateful night that the blonde could never forget. 

The two of them, dancing merrily in the Whirling-In-Rags after celebrating a victory on the rugby field. The floor was stained with booze from their bottles, spilling as they laughed and moved in a seemingly random rhythm that somehow fit like a puzzle piece. They stomped their feet, and sang along drunkly to whatever song was playing until they were too tired to carry themselves. 

They pressed the sides of their faces together, arms thrown over each other's shoulders to balance themselves as they stumbled out of the hostel (to the manager's delight). They walked home and that's when he spoke, maybe because his head was fogged up with all of the alcohol, maybe because his feelings were overflowing... But he told the other man, he told his best friend about his deepest, darkest secret.

He loved men. Always did. And lived in fear of it.

But even then, the older man's chest thundered with laughter as he said "I know you do, I always knew." Then pressed his lips to the side of his friend's head and pulled him closer. The blonde never felt more relieved in his life. 

The next day he was still there, still wanted to see the blonde, still greeted him with a hug, and the blonde wanted to sink into his arms, and stay in his warmth till the end of time. Right then and there, all seemed well with the world. All his problems were trivial. Nothing mattered. 

He was going to be okay. 

A decade later, and here they were, wasting away their life for the Union in the morning, saving Martinaise after work hours. Putting their lives on the line, every single day, for a dying district. But god, did he live for it. He wouldnt want to be anywhere else in the world, not without the other man. He would follow him to hell and back, and fight every beast alongside him.

He let his hand rest on the chest of his best friend, feeling the fabric of his tank top, and his heart beating underneath. The radio became irrelevant, all he could hear now was the sound of him breathing, and it brought him comfort. 

In their line of work, there were many instances where the blonde believed he would never have the chance to hear those sounds again. He remembered days where all he could see was the sky, as blood pooled beneath him. Days where he thought it was going to be the end, this is how he's going to go, and by fuck, he didn't mind it. 

But then he heard that voice, and felt warmth in his ever growing cold hands. "You don't get to leave me now. You hear? Stay with me, Glenny." 

And the fight would be reignited in him in an instant. It was the only reason he was still here.

His other hand found their way to the other man's own, intertwining their fingers. He wanted to bring it up to his lips and kiss the knuckles but didn't want to wake the other man up, so he just let their hands rest together and grinned as he saw the older rugby player smile in his sleep. 

He sighed in content as the radioman spoke about a recent shooting that took the life of four people, something that would have went much worse had the Hardie boys not stepped in. As if recalling the events shed light on new details, the blonde became more aware of the gashes on his knuckles, and the other's own. Rough skin on rough skin, he rubbed the little scars on his hand. 

The radio never stopped.

There was always something.  
Martinaise never slept. The sound of gunshots became as common as hellos and goodbyes. Every day it was something new. A cancer... Martinaise was ill. They were simply the medicine that slowed death down. 

But it was something, at least it was something. 

Titus Hardie believed in what they fought for, so how could he not?

He leaned down, his long golden hair falling off his shoulders and closed around his face, it dragged across the side of the other's own, the tip of their noses touched, and he immediately saw the smile widen on the other's face, he mirrored it.

"Is it mornin' already?"

"No."

Blindly, Titus Hardie lifted his hand and hooked it around Glen's neck pulling him down further. He met him half way, and their lips pressed together for a brief tender kiss. 

When they parted, Titus fluttered his eyes open, and even in the dark, he could see the bright blue eyes staring back at him. 

"You okay?"

"Yeah. Just thinkin'."

Titus chuckled. "Don't go hurtin' yourself by doin' that."

Glen cubbed Titus's jaw, forcing his head up. "You'll start the day off with a shiner, asshole."

Titus hummed, unfazed by the threat. Instead, he captured Glen's lips in another kiss, they moved together slowly, with gentleness that people wouldn't believe macho folks like them have. 

"What are you thinkin' about?" Titus said between their lips.

Glen shrugged, the darkness becoming a veil over the red in his cheeks. He was thankful for that. 

"Maybe you should turn that darn radio off then. It's been babblin' shit all night long."

"I quite like the view from here so I don't think I'll be movin'."

"You won't be so happy about it in the mornin'. When you feel like a grandma with back pain." 

They both laughed and rubbed the tips of their noses together. 

"I'll be fine."

There was a pause, both of them simply stared at one another before Titus spoke. "Yeah, you will be." It was almost a whisper but it carried so much love and care in it. Glen pressed their foreheads together, and they remained like that for a long while. 

Outside, the moon was slowly gliding over the sky, making its journey to the other side of the world. The sea raged on and danced with the land. The wind played with the trees, and the old cargo containers, making them creak. 

As Glen closed his eyes, he thought of the night they first kissed. It was just a regular night like any other, the two of them, the Hardie boys, and an ungodly amount of beer in their systems. 

Glen wasn't sure what was different, but he remembered feeling an intense urge to kiss Titus on their way home. Maybe it was simply piled up feelings of a decade finally boiling over. But he remembered grabbing the side of Titus's face and slamming their lips together. He remembered him tasting heavily of 8% beer, and it mixed with the taste of tobacco on Glen's own lips, and on top of that was the sweet taste of Titus Hardie himself. Glen couldn't get enough. The best part of it was the smile on his face afterwards as he said, "what took you so long?" 

And just like that, they became a force that even hell couldn't break apart. 

They didn't need to announce it to the boys, there was a silent understanding between them. If something had changed, aside from them sneakily holding hands under the table, then the two couldn't really tell. They were still the same drunk roudy boys the others knew, still the same dockworkers, still the same rugby players.

But maybe Glen looked happier, maybe he laughed louder, maybe he hugged Titus tighter. 

Whatever it was, he would never want to let go of it. He would never want to let go of the man he's loved for all these years and knew he would love until the end of their lives. 

As Glen opened his eyes, he saw Titus with a very content and relaxed expression on his face. For a moment he thought the man had fallen asleep again, but as he sat up, he felt the hazel eyes follow him. 

The radio played music in the background, peaceful, calm, melancholic melodies that almost made Glen feel tired enough to finally find sleep. Titus yawned, silently agreeing. 

"Best we shut that fuckin' thing off before I shoot it... then we can get to bed. I reckon there's still some time for us to get some sleep."

This time Glen nodded. Titus got up and turned the radio off before reaching out with a hand, offering it to Glen who took it with a smile. 

They walked to their room. Titus fell on the bed first, pulling Glen on top of him. He immediately closed his arms around him, locking him into an embrace. Glen didn't struggle, he simply let himself sink. 

The older man turned his head, his lips hovering over Glen's forehead. "I love you, Glenny. You know that, right?"

"Don't be fuckin' stupid. Of course I do, T," In fact, he doesn't think anyone else in the world has ever loved him as much as Titus Hardie did. He lowered his head, burying his face in Titus's chest, "and I love you too...or Whatever." He mumbled, words muffled in the older man's tank top. 

Titus laughed and let his fingers card through the long blonde hair before Glen took his other hand, pressing his lips to the small scars on his fingers and knuckles, holding it close to him as he allowed himself to relax and close his eyes.

Martinaise was silent outside, or perhaps everything else became too unimportant for their ears to hear. It didn't take too long for them to feel the weight of the day before making their bodies heavy, and the need to rest became too much for them to resist. 

Lazily, Titus placed one last kiss to Glen's forehead, before falling asleep. 

And the clock ticked on, Martinase would live and fight another day.


End file.
